


born with the grace of a god

by peachyteabuck



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2020-12-31
Packaged: 2021-03-10 22:07:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,037
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28454346
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/peachyteabuck/pseuds/peachyteabuck
Summary: loki finds sharon carter quite…interesting
Relationships: Sharon Carter/Loki
Comments: 2
Kudos: 1





	born with the grace of a god

**Author's Note:**

> this has been in my drafts for WAY too long and I just need to get it out of the “wip” dropbox folder. it’s also the reason i don’t write self-cest lmao. enjoy!

If it didn’t start the first time Loki was captured, it sure as Hell started the second time.

Sharon, ever the conversationalist with war criminals, says nothing. Even if she did plan on talking, she wouldn’t disagree with Loki. John Whatever III had serious emotional issues and decided it would be cheaper to talk to the thing he was assigned to guard than an actual therapist.

Loki remains undeterred. “Oh Ms. Carter- “

“Agent,” she corrects.

“ _Agent_ Carter,” Loki smiles crookedly. “It’s a Saturday night, is it not? Shouldn’t a woman such as yourself be out celebrating the end of another insipid workweek with the rest of the _beau monde_?”

Sharon does not reply. Loki considers abandoning Plan A (seduce the beautiful blonde guarding him and _then_ escaping) for Plan B (just escaping), but some thin thread of internal dialogue convinces him to stay.

 _You always did like a challenge,_ he tells himself while rubbing his fingers, each sore from being clenched in frustration. It’s the thing he tells himself every morning and night, at the start and end of each of Sharon’s shift. He can’t tell if it’s a prayer, a mantra. What he does know, is that a week and a half into his capture, he comes up with the most brilliant plan any being in any galaxy in any timeline has ever thought of.

He surprises her the next day, switching forms just as the guard before her turns his back. It never takes long for him to take a new form, a few seconds – if that – but this new body is one he’s never done before, on account on his inability to practice without spoiling the surprise. He likes the new form, likes the feeling of the skintight suit and tight ponytail. Sharon’s body type is similar to his own, maybe more muscular. And the breasts… _oh_ the breasts, and the space between his thighs.

How he’s missed this.

Sharon enters with the same apathetic, tired look she always does.

As usual, Loki bids her a good morning.

As usual, Sharon ignores him

Still, Loki doesn’t fret – _totally_ doesn’t almost turn himself into a ball of fire to catch the attention of the woman he so cunningly emulated in physical appearance. Part of him wishes to scream and strike the glass like he did when he was a child and Odin gave his golden-haired brother all of his fatherly attention, to scream and cry and annoy Sharon into showing Loki something other than her back. But something in him, something tells him that waiting for Sharon to turn around on her own will be so much sweeter than tricking her.

Turns out, he was right.

It’s like looking in a mirror after taking all of her makeup off for some gala she was forced to attend for her employer, or after a Halloween bender. Like waking up after an accidental, mid-day five-hour nap, or stepping into a room with the air conditioning turned as low as it goes after spending the day in a thick, wet heat.

Sharon is breathless, wide-eyed as she traces the form in front of her, each freckle and strand of blonde hair greying from stress and square jaw and pronounced cupid’s bow and thin, dark eyebrows.

When she moves her hand to fall flat against the glass, Sharon fully expects the hand opposite hers to move as well. It doesn’t, though, because of course. Of course it doesn’t. What’s more likely, the glass encasing her prisoner had been quite reflective this whole time and she’d never noticed? Or that the trickster god turned himself into her mirror image?

For once in his long, _long_ life, Loki does not move to break the silence and look of wonder from the object of his affection. He’s enjoying this – much more than he presumed, actually – basking in Sharon’s reactions.

“Do you like it?” he whispers, pressing his face to the glass and rubbing his hands across his toned ass and breasts. “Do you like me like this?”

Sharon gives him ( _her? She has no idea)_ another look from top to bottom, eyes grazing over each of the curves identical to her own. “Is my tactical suit all you can put me?”

Loki smirks, twirling and changing into a red, skin-tight cocktail dress. He giggles, happy to have a break from the mind-numbing silence from before. “Is this better?”

Before Sharon can blink he’s switched to a sleeveless baby blue ballgown with a plunging neckline and sky-high heels.

 _Damn,_ she thinks. _I do look good, don’t I?_

In another moment, Loki’s moved onto a black, lacy lingerie set, and that’s when Sharon’s professionalism cracks enough for her to speak.

 _“Stop,”_ she commands. It’s in a voice even she doesn’t recognize, lungs too thick with lust to say anything else. Loki smiles with an innocence that reeks of falseness, but Sharon’s nose does not wrinkle as she opens the glass door enough to fit herself into the circular cell. She watches, carefully, as Loki drapes himself across the fainting couch. Sharon’s eyes move to look him up and down again, but stop at the sight of the familiar thatch of course blonde hair at her center, at the pink, pert nipples she loves so much, at the toned thighs she works so hard to maintain. Her mouth nearly waters as she steps closer, the slick collecting at the front of the panties shining in the fluorescent light.

Sharon swallows the lump in her throat before she speaks again. “Take them off,” she says in a much more authoritative voice than before. “Take them both off.”

For the first time in his life, Loki follows orders.

“Touch yourself,” she tells him.

Again, Loki obeys.

It’s loud, the sound of him plunging the unfamiliar fingers into the unfamiliar center, circling the unfamiliar nub.

Sharon licks her lips as she watches, clenching and unclenching her fists and the sounds of the impending orgasm become louder and louder. When it crashes upon her doppelganger, she can feel the ghosts of pleasure scratch at the inside of her thighs.

“What else can you do?” she asks, voice low.

Loki laughs, blissed out with rapture. “What else do you want?”


End file.
